I would say it had started with the ghost of a touch, but that wasn't it. Not really.
I think it was a glance, and a thought.
I was walking on the honeycomb pavement that overlooked the East River, pools of streetlights and shadow, though the latter was weakened by the ambient light pollution that never quite let the eyes rest.
There is a stillness in the city, late at night, that feels almost liminal, as if the world is holding its breath, waiting for something to come. It isn't silent- the city is never silent- but the air of anticipation is there, like a forest where the birds have ceased to sing. Sirens still wail, cars still rush over the streets in a pattern that has nothing to do with traffic lights, or the law, pumping like blood in and out of the heart of Manhattan.
Even so, it all feels a little bit muffled, like when the soundtrack goes quiet in a film because someone is about to speak.
There were people, too, often tense, unused to travelling in such sparse numbers, wondering where the predators lay in wait. Some hunched down into their coats. Some made a little too much effort to project confidence they did not possess. The drunks and the users staggered and wove through the electric lantern light, oblivious to it all. One of those shouted something mostly unintelligible and most certainly anatomically improbable at me.
"Yeah, screw you too, buddy," I muttered. It paid to be polite, and this was New York City. Taking the time to cuss someone out was practically a love letter.
My mind wandered, and, unconsciously, I began to hum "Duo des fleurs" from Lakme- an opera that should never see the light of day due to its horrendously racist overtones, but it did have, hidden amidst the anti-Hindu screed, one beautiful gem of a song that had gained a moment in popular culture decades ago due to its appearance in a movie.
Though I hummed it under my breath, I felt it kept the feeling of pressure before a storm somewhat at bay.
Ahead of me, a man strode down the wide pedestrian walkway, his steps powerful and measured. I only barely registered how quiet he was, for such a large man. He wasn't overly tall, but very broad under his long, thick coat. It looked nice, giving me a small shot of envy. My own sweater wasn't holding up well in these cold late Autumn winds. It couldn't be that much above freezing. Not, mind you, that I had even thought to put it on that night. I had gone for fashion, and I had some small regrets about it.
His face was that of an ordinary man. He looked pleasant, at first glance. Older. grey hair shorn short under a hat, a normal sort of face. Italian origins, maybe like so many New Yorkers. An intrusive thought chose to hit me at that moment, a product of my overactive imagination that was constantly running through scenarios of "what if," and for just a moment, I pictured my arms wrapped around his neck and back, his hips between my legs thrusting into me. What would it be to make love to this man, this stranger, my mind wondered, unbidden.
I knew this thought well, and paid it no heed, but the stranger, in that very moment, looked up, and his eyes, sharp and bright, seemed to catch me out, as if he could see right to the core of me, where my traitorous musings hid.
I sucked in an involuntary breath, and after a long second, his eyes slipped away. He touched his fingertips to his hat as he ducked his head, and I saw a tiny curl at the corner of his mouth.
His stride never broke, and he passed, a good 10 feet to the side of me. I realized then that I had somehow stumbled to a halt without noticing. My cheeks heated, and I quickly shook my head, which I raised just a little too high, and walked on. Everything was coincidental, I was sure.
I didn't know, then, how I had been marked, and would not for some time.
I leaned against the railing, beyond which gently churned the dark, roiling waters. Shipping cranes lurked like Star Wars mechs to the left, bridges glittered before me. The wind rattled the fallen multi-hued leaves on the ground, briefly drowning out the susurrations of a thousand tires on worn, tired asphalt.
My dark burgundy hair was lifted off my neck for the briefest moment, and I felt the breeze caress its nape like a lover. It whirled and turned, brushing the tip of my ear, sliding down like a whisper, then trailing under my jaw and down my throat.
And involuntary shiver burst forth from the base of my spine, arching my back as it raced up into my shoulders. I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck, and behind me, in the shadows of the benches with their pretty curved arm-rests that were hostile architecture in disguise, as if beauty excused callousness, I felt a weight. Without turning I could already feel it. Looming. Pulling. Nerves awoke in my lower back that arched it a little more, some sensation between pleasure and electric intensity.
Was my gut telling me something? It felt like more than that.
Slowly, like swimming through the air in a dream, I turned. A part of me wanted to run, but as for the rest? Whatever this was that I sensed, I wanted to KNOW it.
He was sitting in the middle of the far-left bench, head tilted, eyes glittering like hessonite. His smile was gentle, but it made me shiver all the same. And then another image flashed before my mind's eye- a hand, broad and strong, palming the back of my neck, sliding his fingers down under the diaphanous folds of my pale gold gown, layers of chiffon and brocade whispering at the intrusion. A second hand, cupping my throat, which felt so delicate in his hands, pinning me in place with gentle strength. I was certain, in that moment, that I could not move, though he had used no force on me.
"Would you know more?" a voice murmured against the shell of my ear, but when I blinked and looked around me, there was no one else, only me, standing, my hips pressed taut against the cold railing, knuckles white as I gripped its edge, and the man, sitting 20 feet away, head tilted, unmoving.
I licked my lips, and, feeling ever so slightly self conscious, breathed out one word.
"Yes."
The crash of a trash can getting knocked over and the sound of whooping men shattered the stillness of the night. I whipped my head around to see what had happened, and when I turned back, he was gone.